The Poetry of Travel: Discovering One World, One People

A friend encouraged me to express my reflections on travel through a poem. I wouldn't consider myself a poet by any means; although I wrote poetry in my younger years, that was decades ago. I don't usually share any poetry in these blogs, but today, I'm stepping out of my comfort zone.

When I write in prose, thought is almost always the starting point. My heart gently steps in once the shape begins to form. I start by thinking through ideas, shaping sentences, listening for rhythm, and paying attention to clarity and structure. The heart comes in later - because it has to, and because I want it to. It’s an essential part of everything I write. Without heart, the words would feel empty.

Poetry, however, is a different process. My mind loosens its grip, and the rules soften. Grammar takes a back seat (yay!), allowing my heart - unguarded and unfiltered - to take over. Writing this poem reminded me of this difference. Poetry invites you to speak from a deeper place, beyond logic and structure, beyond the neat edges of prose. It allows words to flow like feelings do: freely, honestly, and without boundaries.

That's what I aimed to do here. It's simple and certainly not sophisticated, but I loved writing it. It felt like my heart got to take the wheel for a while.

The poem's title is "One World, One People," a phrase that has guided me since I was a young man. For me, it encapsulates everything. When someone asks about my political beliefs, that's my answer: One World, One People. And when they ask about my religious or spiritual views, I respond the same way.

That simple phrase holds what I believe matters most: the truth that we are all connected. "One World, One People" isn't just an idea I appreciate; it's the lens through which I try to view the world. It serves as the foundation for every political, spiritual, and personal belief I have.

Science affirms our connection, as does spirit. Our hearts do too, if we're still long enough to listen. When we share the same air, the same planet, and the same hopes and fears, how could we not recognize each other as family? How could we not care, not feel love, and not offer compassion? At our core, unity isn't an ideal; it’s simply what’s true. The real work lies in remembering it.

After these past five years of extensive travel, that truth has only grown stronger for me. Yes, we may look different. Yes, we speak different languages. Yes, we pray in various ways - or not at all. But those differences are minor compared to the ways we are the same. Everywhere I've been, I’ve encountered the same tenderness, the same joys and struggles, the same laughter, and the same humanity. Again and again, I’m reminded: we truly are One World, One People.

As you read this poem (below), I hope you feel some of the joy I experienced while writing it.

One World; One People

We leave home thinking

we are travelers -

crossing borders,

collecting stamps,

counting miles

as if distance were the measure

of a life well-lived.

But the real journey -

the true journey -

begins quietly.

In a market at dusk,

where spices rise like stories.

In the smile of a stranger

who has never heard your name

but greets you like you belong.

In hands offering food

you can’t pronounce,

yet somehow

it tastes like welcome.

In ancient temples,

in crowded train stations,

in desert heat,

in monsoon rain -

we learn something simple,

something enormous:

Everywhere,

people laugh the same.

Everywhere,

mothers worry the same.

Everywhere,

hearts break

and hearts heal

in ways we recognize

even without understanding the words.

Travel dissolves the walls

we were taught to build -

those invisible lines whispering,

You are different.

You are other.

But on a quiet train

sliding into a city

we’ve never seen before,

we look out the window

and feel it -

that shift,

that softening,

that remembering

that belonging.

We discover that fear

is a storyteller

who has never left home.

And hate?

Hate cannot survive

a shared meal,

a shared laugh,

a shared moment

of wonder.

Because when we stand

beneath the same stars,

feet planted

on the same spinning earth,

breathing air

that has circled the globe

a thousand times

before borders existed -

how can we pretend

we are not connected?

Travel teaches

what no map can:

that the world is wide,

but the heart -

oh, the heart is wider.

That every new friend

is family

we simply hadn’t met yet.

That we don’t travel

to escape life -

we travel

to embrace more of it.

One step,

one smile,

one shared story

at a time,

we become the proof:

One world.

One people.

One beautiful,

interwoven

home.

Simcha Weinstein